Harry's Hydrotherapy
by canoncansodoff
Summary: Harry is hit by a dark curse that causes his skin and lungs to burn on contact with air. Hermione hits upon a novel treatment plan that involves hydrotherapy, hormones, and a backyard swimming pool. Harry/Hermione/Vector others?
1. Chapter 1

**Hydrotherapy**

A Harry Potter fanfic by canoncansodoff

**Summary:** Harry is hit by a dark curse that causes his skin and lungs to burn on contact with air. Hermione hits upon a novel solution when a cure can't be found that involves hydrotherapy, hormones, and a backyard swimming pool.

**Ship:** H/Hr/V (for Vector, not Voldemort...I'm not that sick). Other girls might join in on the fun.

**Rating:** M

**Warnings:** This story starts with an edgy chapter that skirts the perils of a professor/student relationship by setting it a few weeks after Hermione and Harry's graduation. It also includes semi-oblique references to off-camera sexual predation that occurred more than twenty-years past (anyone sensitive to rape descriptions should take heed). This story will try to avoid the Weasleys as much as possible, and will include femmeslash.

**Chapter 1:** An Idea Forms

**oo00OO00oo**

In the wee hours of a Sunday morning, two witches worried in front of a blackboard.

Hermione Granger worried for Harry Potter. Septima Vector worried for Hermione Granger.

The younger witch let the piece of chalk she'd held in her hand drop to the floor. "But...I was so certain...we've spent all week...it can't be...what do we do now?"

Hogwarts's Arithmancy Professor scanned the formulas written on the hovering board one last time. She was quite certain that they were correct, but given the fact that these were equations that might save Harry Potter's life and magic, it was the least she could do. Once the review was completed, she sighed, and placed her own stick of chalk on the blackboard's ledge. This allowed her to pull her former student into a one-armed, side-by-side hug.

Pulling as much empathy and support into her voice as she could, Vector said, "Hermione...we agreed when we chose this line of inquiry that it had the highest probability of success. But that doesn't mean that the other options lack viability."

"But they'll each take just as long to evaluate, and Harry doesn't have that time!" Hermione cried.

When the Arithmancy professor squeezed Hermione's shoulder, the bushy-haired witch responded by pulling her mentor into a bear-hug and burying her face into her shoulders.

A very small part of Septima Vector's highly-organized mind wanted to relish the sensation of having the object of her desires within her arms...to have Hermione's breasts mashed up against her own...to have her lips within nibbling distance of Hermione's ear lobe. But the better angels were firmly in control of the witch's thoughts and actions, and they knew that this was neither the time, nor place to act on selfish needs and desires.

The black-haired witch held Hermione loosely, and tried to chart the most logical forward path.

"Hermione," she said softly. "It's so late...or early...we've been so focussed, and pounding down pepper-up potions like pumpkin juice. Neither of us will be able to focus on the other options without some rest."

The sound of a sniffle and the touch of Hermione's head as she nodded into the older witch's neck indicated her agreement.

"You're right, as usual," Hermione muttered.

Septima pulled back from the embrace, took hold of Hermione's hands, and started to pull her towards the guest bedroom her quarters at Hogwarts. The younger witch followed willingly, only to stop short at the bedroom door's threshold.

"Professor?"

"Come, now Hermione...you're no longer my student, and not yet my apprentice. It's Septima."

Hermione blushed, and looked down at the floor. "Septima...I'm so scared for Harry...and...and...the nightmares...I know they'll come..."

The Arithmancy professor's lips curled upward. "So we should dispense with preliminaries and accept inevitable outcomes?"

"If...if you don't mind?" Hermione asked hopefully.

Vector closed her eyes and took in a deep breath. Her better angels were now fighting a losing battle.

After a few moments, she stared deeply into Hermione's needy eyes, and nodded towards the threshold.

"Go on, then, and wash up. I'll see you in bed."

Hermione somehow managed to smile through her dried tears. She leaned forward, placed a kiss on Vector's cheek, and disappeared into the guest lavatory.

Septima shook her head and headed towards the lav attached to her own bedroom, stopping along the way to shed her robes and grab a t-shirt and a pair of knickers from her dresser drawers. She snorted when she noticed her color selection...crimson French-cut shorts trimmed with gold ribbon. Not something an alumnae of Slytherin House would be expected to wear. But then again, they were worn for the benefit of her favorite Gryffindor.

**oo00OO00oo**

Hogwarts' Professor of Arithmancy had always been attracted to girls more than boys. Always.

Now this hadn't been much of a problem when in her younger years. There was a certain amount of latitude given to young witches at Hogwarts, and a tradition of warming bed and sharing bodies in the girls' dormitories. Septima had made the most of living up to that tradition. But female lovers were something to be left behind at school, and it was expected that a witch would move on to a more "mature" type of love between a witch and a wizard. That this "higher" form of love was often expected to blossom within arranged marriages between complete strangers was one of the more glaring examples of illogic within the wizarding world.

Septima had lost her Seventh-Year female lover to an arranged marriage with a Italian wizard soon after graduation, and seemed destined for the same fate. Her father was keen on marrying her off, despite her pleas that she loved learning far more than she could love any wizard. Fortunately for Septima, her father didn't have final say. It was her grandfather who was the Vector family patriarch, and he was willing to take a broader perspective.

It was a feather in a patriarch's hat to have members of his family hold Masteries...and an wing's worth of feathers to have a member of the family on staff at the finest institution of witchcraft and wizardry in the world. Unfortunately, it was hard for a married witch to work outside the home (much less live outside of it within professorial quarters)...this was why it was so very rare for a married witch to teach (and why none of Septima's female professors were married). So a deal was struck; Septima was allowed to apprentice to the Hogwarts professor, and to attempt to gain her Mastery in the subject. Once she gained her Mastery she had five years to secure a position on the Hogwarts staff. So long as she held that position, she would not be forced into any marriage.

Vector had been grateful for her grandfather's flexibility, and thrilled to have immediately been accepted as apprentice to the Hogwarts arithmancy professor. But then reality struck, and she discovered that the rules that prevented professors from fraternizing with students did not apply to relationships between masters and their apprentices. Those rules, left largely untouched from their Medieval origins, allowed an unscrupulous witch or wizard near-unlimited control over their charge's life...not just what they studied, and when they worked, but where they slept, and when they were sodomized.

Everything but her nominal virginity were up for grabs for the master to which Vector signed away seven years of her young life. And grab he did...she had apprenticed to a wizard whose cheerful, professional demeanor disappeared as soon as he was behind the closed doors of his quarters. The lecherous old man had Septima stripped-down and on her knees as often as he had her before the blackboard learning her craft. Would have been horrible enough if she were straight...but for a witch's witch? Her only solace was the fact that she would be no better off if she left her apprenticeship and was forced into an arranged marriage. At least this way provided a clear pathway out of hell.

The incentive to gain her Mastery and her freedom was strong enough for the brilliant young witch to complete her required tutelages nearly four years early. But how rare is the professor who allows his apprentice (or graduate student) to leave their control before the contracted time expires? Vector's master had someone to grade his papers and warm his bed...he wasn't about to easily give that up. He therefore found a myriad of petty little ways to delay her departure...insisting on thesis revisions for the use of the wrong type of parchment, or margins of printed text that were too wide for his liking. And it went without saying that as a busy man, the professor needed at least two or three months to review each revised draft.

Septima's horrid situation had not gone unnoticed amongst some of the female faculty. Minerva McGonnagall had been very sympathetic...her apprenticeship to Headmaster Dumbledore had been almost as vexing (although it had involved none of the sexual predation...for reasons that the two witches suspected, but never voiced). The Hogwarts Matron had also been quite supportive, to the point of conspiracy during Vector's fifth year of apprenticeship. A witch's witch herself, Poppy played a bit loose with her Healer's oath one night, and informed the apprentice that her master had a heart condition, and that excessive exertion would be potentially fatal for.

That night, Apprentice Vector lost her nominal virginity at the start of a marathon session of sex that two hours caused her mentor to lose his life to a shag-induced heart attack.

He died with a smile on his face...but his apprentice's Slytherin smile lasted much longer.

As it was mid-term and she was already teaching the lower level arithmancy classes, Vector was offered the temporary posting as a replacement professor...pending her apprenticeship to a new master. Septima, however, had enough leverage to request that the work she had already completed be evaluated by an independent panel. That independent panel, of course, saw no reason not to immediately award the arithmatic savant a mastery. Headmaster Dumbledore, in turn, saw no reason not to make the job offer permanent. So it was that Septima Vector, at age 22 and 1/2, and less than five years of apprenticeship, became one of the youngest professors in the history of Hogwarts.

Now, some 22 years later, Septima had just managed to dodge the most serious threat to that career (and her single life)...her feelings for the object of her bedtime (and daytime) fantasies. She had always managed to work through (and around) the student crushes held by some of her female students (and the odd male who was too daft or delusional to ignore the rumors concerning her sexual orientation). She had shared a few flings with non-student witches, but nothing that lasted. She had even had the odd fantasy involving some of her more nubile students, but not to the point of danger. But then a bossy, brilliant bushy-haired muggleborn witch walked into her classroom and into her life.

Hogwarts' Professor of Arithmancy had tried, but failed, to pinpoint exactly when she began to fancy her favorite student. It could have been as early as Hermione's Fifth Year, at least on an unconscious level. Part of the problem was trying to separate romantic feelings from the kind of affection shared between kindred spirits. And that Hermione was Septima's kindred spirit, at least in terms of her love of arithmancy, and her passion of learning, there could be no doubt. That much the two had admitted to each other. But those other thoughts...the imaginings of shared baths, shared beds, shared bodies? They were forbidden, and inappropriate, and (needless to say) completely against the Code of Conduct that Hogwarts professors were expected to adhere to.

It was probably the Second War that had saved her job. As much as Hermione bonded with her Arithmancy professor, she was an order of magnitude closer to her best friend, Harry Potter. Her single-minded dedication to keeping him alive, and to the defeat of Voldemort, had kept Hermione busy enough to keep Septima away from temptation, and away from any physical contact beyond the odd, awkward hug. Hermione also seemed well aware of necessary boundaries, and the rules and risks involved. Which is why it got really awkward when, a month before her N.E.W.T.s, she asked Professor Vector about the possibility of an apprenticeship.

Vector sat Hermione down and asked if she really knew what she would be signing up for.

Hermione nodded.

Vector then recounted her own horrid experiences as a apprentice.

Hermione responded with an expression of complete trust.

Vector, at the point of sexual frustration and exasperation, demanded to know what Hermione would do if she apprenticed to a female master who forced her to satisfy her orally on a daily basis.

Hermione smiled, and replied that force might not be an issue, depending on who the female master was.

Vector closed her eyes, squeezed her thighs together, and asked, "What about Harry?"

Hermione frowned. She then stated that she couldn't start an apprenticeship until after Harry had defeated Voldemort. She also observed, somewhat bitterly, that Harry only thought of her as a friend.

That was enough to make Septima frown. The mixed messages were infuriating, but as Hermione was still a student, she couldn't pursue that line of inquiry any further.

Not knowing at all whether she could trust herself, Vector made a tentative offer of apprenticeship, with official papers not to be signed until after graduation and after Hermione felt free to fully devote herself to her studies.

Then Voldemort attacked Hogwarts on the first day of N.E.W.T. examinations.

Harry defeated the Dark Lord, but was struck with a curse that put his life and magic in great danger. Ironically, it wasn't the curse that was slowly killing Harry, but the medicinal treatment that kept a far quicker (and horrifically painful) death at bay. He had been housed within the Hospital Wing of Hogwarts, which allowed Hermione to visit his stasis-held body even as she desperately searched for a counter to the arcane curse that he had been struck down with.

Time spent in the library searching for a counter-curse was made possible when examinations were canceled (in light of student injuries and general celebrations), and N.E.W.T.s awarded based on classroom grades. Hermione took full advantage of the opportunity, going so far as to skip graduation ceremonies in favor of more forays into the Restricted Section. When school let out for the year and students headed home, Hermione was offered the opportunity to stay on at Hogwarts, either in the Head Girl's Suite, or in the apprentice quarters. She accepted with gratitude, and moved into a modest two-room suite down the hall from Vector's quarters.

That search for a countercurse had to be delegated, once Poppy discovered just how badly Harry was reacting to the stasis charm.

Desperate to create a modified spell that wasn't such a drain on Harry's magic, Hermione and Septima had worked nearly non-stop on a solution for more than two weeks. They took little time to eat the meals that they took in Septima's quarters, where large blackboards filled with chalked equations hovered in nearly every room. They took little time to sleep, catching a few hours here and there when dead ends were reached in their work.

And that is how it came to be that Septima Vector woke up one morning naked, and under the covers with her would-be apprentice.

It happened the first night of their collaboration, when Hermione had fallen asleep leaning against a chalkboard. Vector had levitated Hermione's body into the guest bedroom, and covered her with a sheet. She then went into her own bedroom, changed into her normal night wear (i.e. nothing) and slipped into an uneasy sleep of her own. That sleep was interrupted when nightmares produced screams that pierced the night. It was Hermione, experiencing a horrific mental reenactment of the Final Battle. The only thing that seemed to soothe the young witch was being held in a close embrace. So that's what Septima gave her, thinking little of negative consequence.

Until morning, that is, when the Arithmancy professor found Hermione peacefully asleep, with her lips against the older witch's neck, and her hands on the older witch's breasts. There was embarrassment all around once Hermione woke, but Vector's apologies were refused, and Hermione had admitted that it was the first semi-restful night of rest since the attack.

Septima offered to help Hermione however she could, day or night. While this bold offer was genuine, she hadn't expected it to be taken up fully. But that second night there was a knock on the door to her bedroom. Septima had just turned out the lights, and was wearing what she normally wore to bed (i.e. nothing), so when she answered the door she only opened it a crack. On the other side was a nervous witch dressed in a thin dressing gown. Once admitted inside, Hermione dropped the dressing gown to the ground, revealing as much as Septima was presently wearing (i.e. nothing). She explained that it was only polite to wear what her host wore if she were to share her host's bed.

The third night (and every night since then), Vector didn't bother to be modest when she opened the door. She did, however, start wearing knickers and a t-shirt to bed...not because she was embarrassed about her own body, but because she was so tempted at the sight of Hermione's.

**oo00OO00oo**

When Septima head the door to her bedroom open this night, she turned towards the lavatory door and realized that it was almost a foot ajar. More than open enough for Hermione to notice that she was still starkers if she looked. No effort was made to close the door, or to slip on the knickers and t-shirt that had become her nighttime armor/attire.

"Be right there, Hermione."

"No worries, Septima," Hermione called back.

Taking the reassurance to heart, the Arithmancy Professor took a hard look in the mirror. She was reluctantly pleased...at age 45, she was clearly enjoying the benefits of a witch's lifespan, and look no different than she did at age 30. Her face was soft-skinned and wrinkle free, with a slightly longish nose balanced by plump lips and warm hazel eyes. As she nodded her head, the black hair that she kept in a short bob framed first one side of her face, then the other. She had thought of growing her hair long...even down to her back, until Hermione had mentioned that she thought Septima's long neck to be one of her most attractive features. There was little chance that she'd cover her neck after that.

A flick of her wand expanded the mirror so that she could inspect more than just her head and neck. Her breasts were firm, and sat high on her chest, well-proportioned for her 5'9" frame. The nipples on those breasts were as wide as the length of her thumb, and as long as her thumbnail...but then again, her nipples were always hard and tight at the thought of snuggling with Hermione. Her stomach was flat, if not muscular. Flatter than she had the right for it to be, given the richness of the Hogwarts menu and the relatively sedentary life of an academic. She imagined that she had her bean-pole sized mum and a high metabolism to thank for that.

Below the flat belly was a mass of black short and curlies that was an forest when compared to Hermione's well-trimmed single tree. Again, the temptation to tame that jungle to better match Hermione's preferences was shot down by a comment from Hermione. The young witch wasn't so bold as to openly admire Vector's mound, but did say (when asked) that she saw no need for her to teach Septima her favorite depilatory charms. And that was more than enough for the older witch to leave well enough alone. Vector's hips and bum were round and curvy...more so than Hermione's slightly more boyish frame. No real complaints or concerns about sagging or cellulite (it was good to be a witch!). Her legs were long (as they should be, given her height) and supported by feet that were easily the worst feature of her body. Those feet were, in a word, gigantic. Almost half-again longer than Hermione's and far out of proportion to her frame. There was, unfortunately, little that could be done magically about this, short of developing metamorphic skills. About the only good thing that could be said was that magic made it far easier for her to find good-fitting shoes in her size than if she had been a muggle women faced with a similar situation.

Deciding that she had better things to do than fret about her ugly feet, Septima slipped them through the legs of her knickers and pulled the slip of clothing up to her hips. The t-shirt came next. As usual, it was far too thin to hide the perky nipples underneath. She had tried to fix this magically the first few nights, until she realized that Hermione had the same problem and wasn't making an effort to hide it. And so she stopped trying, as well.

It was, as Septima checked her appearance one last time, amazing how much she was tailoring her life and molding her responses to satisfy a witch who well less than half her age. But Hermione wasn't just any witch, and you were supposed to do silly things when you were in love, right?

In love. In love with Hermione Granger. It shouldn't be right, but Merlin it felt that way.

When Septima returned to the bedroom, she discovered Hermione sitting up in bed, with a smile on her face and a twinkle in her eye that in no way squared with her despondency a few minutes past.

"What's...you look rather happy?"

Hermione nodded. "I had an idea come to mind whilst washing my face."

Vector sighed. "Hermione, we really should get some sleep, but if you want to hover a board over the bed, I'll be happy to push forward..."

"No, it's not arithmancy," Hermione replied. "It's a different approach to the problem at hand."

"How's that?"

"Simple, really...can't believe I hadn't thought of it sooner," Hermione replied. "The stasis charm is draining Harry's magic. The salve that could replenish that magic can't be applied because Harry's encased in mud. But he can't breathe air, or have his skin exposed, due to the curse, so he needs that covering. That's why we were trying to create a modified stasis charm that drew energy from external sources."

"Yes, it's a rather vicious circle of problems," Vector replied. "So what's the new approach?"

"Water."

"Water?"

Hermione nodded. "Came to me when I leaned over a basin full of water. Water would protect Harry's skin, and if the salve isn't water soluble it can be applied while he's submerged."

The recent graduate then let out a sound that was close to a "squee!" and added, "And that's not the best part."

Septima smiled, having become infected with Hermione's enthusiasm. "What's the best part?"

"The best part is that Harry could breathe underwater...and if he can breathe, then he doesn't need to be in stasis, or have that salve applied."

"But how can Harry breathe underwater?"

"Gillyweed."

"Oh, my...the Second Task!"

"Exactly!" Hermione stated.

"So then...we throw Harry back into the lake?"

Hermione shook her head. "The conditions are too uncontrolled. We need a small isolated pool of water, free of squids, and mermen, and grindylows."

"You have a place in mind, I imagine?"

Hermione nodded and grinned.

Catching on, Septima answered her own question. "Your parents' house...there's a pool in the backyard."

"Yes!" Hermione shouted. She then jumped up onto her knees, crawled over to the edge of the bed, and pulled the taller witch into a tight hug. Kicking her feet up and down against the bed as if she were a young child, she said, "If it weren't for the hour, I'd be off to the house now."

"But because of the hour, we're going to stay here and get some sleep, right?"

Hermione reluctantly nodded, and dived backwards onto the bed with a giddy smile. "Oh, if it works...to be able to wake Harry, and talk with him, and..."

"And tell him how you really feel about him?" Septima asked quietly.

Hermione quickly calmed down, and bit her lower lip.

"There are a lot of talks to be had all around, I think," she admitted. "I'm sure that I'm getting ahead of myself though, and making overly optimistic assumptions..."

Septima shook her head. "It sounds rather brilliant to me. That said, we should try to get some sleep."

Hermione nodded, and pulled down the covers.

"Think you'll need my help chasing away nightmares tonight, Hermione?"

The young witch looked up and saw some vulnerability in her former professor's eyes.

"I'd rather not risk it, if you don't mind," she replied.

It was Septima's turn to bite her lip. She eventually nodded, dimmed the lights, and slipped legs underneath the covers. Chances were good that there would be scant opportunity for her soothe Hermione's nightmares in the days ahead.

Septima turned in the dark towards Hermione and said, "Sweet dreams."

Hermione smiled, and pulled the other witch into a firm embrace. After another kiss to Septima's cheek, she leaned a bit forward and whispered into her ear.

"If I do, it will all be because of you."

Hermione then turned to her other side, and pushed back into the spooning position that they both favored.

As much as Septima Vector appreciated the thought (and the snuggling), she could only wish that it was so.


	2. Chapter 2

**Hydrotherapy  
**A Harry Potter fanfic by canoncansodoff

**Disclaimer:** Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 2:** **Fleshing out the idea**

**oo00OO00oo**

The words written upon the scrap of parchment that sat on Hermione's pillow simply said, "_With Harry_."

Septima Vector sighed, and wondered whether the young witch realized the double meaning within her message.

She sat up, and cast a quick _Tempus_ spell. That, and a moment's review of how she had slept suggested that she'd gotten four and a half hours of unremarkable sleep. This was remarkable in and of itself...it would have the first time she hadn't recalled waking at least once during the night within her shared bed. There hadn't been any nightmares to soothe, no waking up in the middle of the night to readjust her straying hands or (conversely) to relish where Hermione's had slipped during her sleep.

Was time a more complex variable when it came to Hermione's quality of sleep? Probably, which threw the equation that she'd developed to quantify that quality of sleep out the window:

y equals 2atan( det(c1,c2,f2,f1)x + b )/pi

Where:  
x time spent in shared bed  
f1 frequency of Hermione's loving thoughts of the other person  
f2 frequency of Hermione's negative thoughts of the other person  
c1 dimension-less amorous constant  
c2 dimension-less loathing constant  
b sleep quality alone  
y sleep quality together

With sleep quality being a dimensionless quantity ranging from -1 (worst possible) to 1 (best possible).

Perhaps the increasing number of days spent sharing a bed could be incorporated into f1 and f2...Hermione's feelings for Septima would be time dependent...and grow incrementally over time. Or, grow less, were she sleeping with somebody that she liked less and less the more time she spent with them.

The Arithmancy shook her head dismissively. She was doing it again...trying to break down her personal relationships into arithmatic equations. What worked when she was observing others went straight to the rubbish bin once she looked inward. And time spent pondering the whys and wheres of that fact could be spent bettering her relationship with her bedmate in a less elegant, but far more productive way...bolstering her "f1" value in Hermione's eyes.

And helping Hermione determine what the "f" factors were for the wizard whom she'd left Septima's bed to visit.

The Slytherin voice within Septima's mind scowled at that last goal, and suggested that the Sorting Hat should have sorted her a Puff. It did, admittedly, seem counterintuitive...she was helping Hermione save the life of the one she feared her love loved more. Better, from a purely selfish standpoint, to not be so helpful searching for a cure...better to keep Harry packed in mud and out of Hermione's bed.

But not at the cost of his life. There was also the "MBW" or "most brilliant witch" factor to consider. Hermione would know if Septima didn't give her best effort at finding the Arithmantic pathway towards that spell. And since Septima had been upfront with her belief that Hermione thought of Harry as more than just a "best friend," she'd conjur up the most likely reason for that lackluster effort...and would never forgive the older witch for it.

So it was counterintuitive, but the only path forward...do her best to help Hermione save Harry, and give Hermione the opportunity to constrain variables. Vector could only pray to the goddesses that her "f" factors were ultimately more favorable than Harry Potter's.

Although it might not hurt to do a bit more...

Septima bounced out of bed and started a list:

Top Ten Ways to Maximize f1 and Minimize f2  
1) Help with the spell work, or whatever else Hermione needs to save Harry's life;  
2) Pray;  
3) Wear something that might catch Hermione's eye;  
4) Stop by the kitchens on her way to the Hospital Wing, and pick up Hermione's preferred morning tea and breakfast foods;  
5) Try not to act like a giggling love-sick school girl around Hermione;  
6) Try not to act like a predatory old hag;  
6) Brush;  
7) Floss;  
8) Keep my hands from straying too often;  
9) Let my hands stray enough for her to know that I'm interested;  
10) Stop adding to this list and start doing what's been listed.

With that last item in mind, the Arithmancy professor dropped her quill onto her night stand, stripped off her t-shirt and knickers, and padded off to her showers. "Smelling fresh and clean" wasn't on the list she'd just compiled, but that didn't mean it wasn't a good idea. And if the magical shower heads could help her take the edge off of the frustration that came from sleeping with someone she lusted for without really "sleeping" with her, then so much the better.

**oo00OO00oo**

Septima strolled into the Hogwarts Infirmary with a breakfast tray in tow, only to be disappointed when she spotted a similar tray of half-eaten breakfast foods lying on the bed next to an area hidden by drawn curtains. Poppy's doing, she imagined...Hermione wouldn't have taken the time to order the food, and the Hogwarts Matron had been chiding her over the past week to remember to eat. The Arithmancy professor sighed, and sat her own tray down so that she could join the other two, who were presently conversing within the screened-off area.

"Knock, knock?"

Hermione poked her head out from the curtains, and her facial expression brightened.

"Good morning, Septima...ooh, I like those colors on you."

"Thanks, Hermione," the older witch replied brightly. She was pleased that Hermione had noticed. According to one of her other muggleborn students, the slate blue robes that hung open over dark muggle jeans and light gray t-shirt were supposed to complement her "winter" hair color and skin tone.

"Room for me in there as well?"

Hermione ducked her head back inside the curtain for a moment to ask the Matron a question, then popped it out to say, "If you want. Just to warn you though, we've got the projection hovering."

Vector nodded. "I've seen it before, but thanks for the heads-up," she replied.

The projection that Hermione had mentioned was a magical, three-dimensional depiction of the body that was presently submerged within a bed-sized vat filled with a five-foot thick layer of mud. The warning had little to do with the fact that the green-tinged projected image showed Harry Potter's naked flesh...it was the shock of seeing the condition of that flesh that had to be guarded against.

It was hard for Septima not to turn her eyes away from the horrific sight when she slipped through the curtains, but she managed for Hermione's sake. The projection that hovered above the mud looked nothing at all like Harry Potter, beyond its length and general shape. Third-degree burns and blisters covered nearly every square inch of his body, and hid the trademark scar. The instantly recognizable mass of unruly black hair had been burnt off, along with his eyebrows, eyelashes, and body hair. This gave an appearance that Hermione had characterized as ironic, in that it looked far more like Voldemort's face than Harry's.

Vector gave a nod towards Madame Pomfrey, who was casting diagnostic spells from the foot of the vat, then turned back to Hermione.

"So how's the mud holding up?" she asked.

"Not well, I'm afraid."

In support of her assessment, Hermione pointed towards the wall above the vat, where the contents of a half-dozen charmed hour-glasses showed the amount of residual magical energy within the therapeutic mud-pack.

"Transfer rate across Harry's chest and back has dropped off significantly...the mudpack in those areas will be fully depleted sometime tomorrow evening."

"And the next layer of mud will hit the diffusion rate wall, right?"

Hermione nodded grimly.

"That's why Madame Pomfrey was far more open to my brainstorming this morning than I thought she'd be."

Septima tried to put the best face on things as she gave Hermione a one-arm hug. "Whenever one door closes, another one opens, right?"

"We might have to blast through that door regardless if it's open or not," the Hogwarts Matron stated, having finished her diagnostic spellwork. "If there's to be a change in treatment, it should be done today."

"So you think it'll work?" Hermione asked.

Poppy shook her head. "I think we may be forced to find out," she replied. "Though why you think we need to cart Mr. Potter off to your parent's house..."

"We'd need the water volume," Hermione replied firmly. "If we tried to do it in a bathtub, or this vat, there wouldn't be enough dissolved oxygen to force through his gills."

"If we were to go the gillyweed route," Poppy noted.

Hermione shrugged her shoulders and nodded. "But even if we didn't...it will be easier to treat Harry's skin if we have better access to it."

Hogwarts' medi-witch pursed her lips, but eventually nodded. "I'll want to see this pool first."

"Of course, Madame Pomfrey," Hermione replied brightly. "We could go straight away."

"Minerva could fashion us a portkey," Septima offered. "Think your parents will be at home?"

"It's Sunday...the surgery is closed," Hermione replied with a nod. "They'll probably still be in bed."

"And they won't mind the interruption?" Septima asked with a smirk.

Hermione cocked her head sideways. "Interrupting what?"

"What they might be doing in bed?"

The young witch waved off the suggestion. "Dad can always do the Sunday crossword later on."

Septima snorted, but didn't press the issue.

**oo00OO00oo**

Hermione Granger's parents purchased her childhood home on 113 Thames Street in Weybridge in the same year that the Dursleys moved into Number 4 Privet Drive. The residences were roughly the same age, and both located in the western suburbs of London roughly twelve miles apart (as the broom flies). Both homes were also built of brick.

And that's about all that the homes had in common.

Little Whinging was a planned community developed soon after the Second World War in what used to be agricultural lands. The flat landscape lent it self to an ordered gridwork of streets, upon which homogeneous upscale homes were built to house homogeneous upscale people. Hermione's neighborhood, in contrast, was tucked into a wide ox-bow bend of the River Thames, with streets that curved in harmony with the natural landscape. And the people that lived in these homes tended to be just as non-linear, and certainly far more relaxed than the "proper" residents of Privet Drive.

The front of the Granger residence enjoyed a lovely view of a slipway that fed into the river. Across the street was a narrow parking lot attached to a small marina, and a very focused, low-powered muggle repelling charm kept the parking spaces that stood between the house and slipway vacant. While this facilitated aesthetically pleasing curbside views of both the river and the Granger's motorboat that was tied up directly in front of their house, the charm had been placed to provide unobstructed views in the opposite direction. For it was from the bridge of this boat that disillusioned Order members had stood protective watch over the house.

As the carpark marked the outer limit of the home's protective wards, the cabin of the motorboat had become the default target for friendly apparations or portkey use. It was, therefore, the arrival area for four witches who wished to inspect a swimming pool.

"Leave the robes below deck, Madame Pomfrey," instructed Hermione, once they gained their footing. "The notice-me-not charms are tied to the boat, and we'd be spotted once we stepped ashore.

"But that's all I'm wearing at the moment!" the medi-witch protested.

"Allow me, then," offered the Headmistress, who put her transfiguration skills to work and transfigured Poppy's lime-green robes into a lime-green, ankle-length dress.

Hermione looked at the transfigured outfit, as well as McGonagall's tartan, and winced a bit.

"Those will do, I guess."

"Hmmph!" Poppy snorted, taking in the jeans and t-shirts that Hermione and Vector were both wearing. "I haven't worn trousers like those in sixty years, and I'm not about to start now! It's indecent, how tightly those things are pressed up against your thighs and fannies."

"Oh, Poppy," Septima said, with a sigh of amusement. "If I didn't know that you aren't one to wear knickers, I'd suggest that you keep from twisting them."

"Ladies, we are here to do more than comment on fashion and undergarments, aren't we?" asked Minerva. "Come along."

Hermione allowed the Headmistress to lead the way above deck, and onto the river bank. She did push forward, though, once they reached the curb...there wasn't much car traffic on Sunday mornings, but she would never assume that those raised within the wizarding world would automatically look before crossing.

The Granger residence wasn't at all majestic or imposing. Had the Dursleys been shown the Weybridge home for potential purchase, they would taken one look at the relatively narrow lot width of 35 feet and rejected the three-bedroom cottage out of hand. They would have then missed what the Grangers didn't fail to note...the opportunities presented by a home that sat on a lot that was over 235 feet long.

Hermione decided not to immediately pester her parents and announce their arrival. This was to be a quick scout-about that might come up empty, and if it did she wanted to immediately return to Hogwarts, rather than sit for a visit. So she bypassed the front door, and made for the gated pathway that led to the back yard. Since it was Poppy's first visit to Weybridge, Hermione played tour guide, and pointed out the windowed conservatory that was attached to the back of the house. The conservatory overlooked a flagstone patio and landscaped garden that was meant to be played on more than looked at. The garden included a long expanse of lawn, a playground set, and a miniature playhouse that had always been Hermione's favorite place to read.

The garden was half-again as large as the one that Harry had to tend on Privet Drive, but only covered half of the available space. The balance was hidden by a high wooden fence and a second secured gate.

"So the pool area is kept locked up, not so much for privacy as to prevent accidental drownings and unchaperoned dips by the neighborhood kids," Hermione explained, as she waved towards the fence. Using an _Alohamora _spell that worked quicker than manually opening the combination lock, she pushed open the gate.

"Inside the pool area," she stated, "we'll find a heated in-ground pool, a hot tub, and..._Sweet Merlin Riding a Bicycle_!"

Septima Vector reacted to Hermione's exclamatory by drawing her wand and leaping in front of her. Once she spied what had prompted Hermione's response, she lowered her wand and grinned.

"No...looks more like your sweet mum riding your dad."

Hermione hastily pulled Septima back and slammed the gate shut. With a deep red blush bursting on her face and neck, she hid her face in her hands.

"Oh my, oh, my, oh my..." she muttered.

Septima resisted suggesting to Hermione that if she wanted to mimic her parent's moans that she'd have to lower her voice an octave or two. Poppy and McGonagall didn't need the extra punchline to generate some snickering.

"Erm...Hermione? Wha...Wait just a second, dear," came a voice from the other side.

"Take all the time you need, Mr. and Mrs. Granger," Septima replied. "We can go inside and wait for you to finish up."

"Oh, that won't be necessary," Roger Granger called out. A few moments later the gate opened, and he walked out wearing a towel wrapped around his waist.

"Hermione...what a surprise!" he said rather sheepishly.

"I'd be worried if it wasn't," Poppy quipped to McGonagall.

"Oh, hold on...I'm supposed to ask you a security question," Roger announced. "Which car got stains on its rear bench upholstery when you couldn't hold your water on the trip to Cornwall?"

Hermione closed her eyes and sighed as the other three witches tittered.

"It was the Beemer, Dad...and I was only five at the time, and I told you that I had to go to the loo fifteen minutes prior."

"That is correct," Roger announced. "Now let's see, what other embarrassing questions can I ask to even things up?"

"Is something wrong, dear?" ask Emily Granger, as she approached wearing a slightly wider towel that barely covered her bits. "Is it about Harry?"

"Yes, actually...it is," Septima replied.

"Oh, no, you don't mean..." Emily pushed past her husband so that she could pull her daughter into a hug. "Oh, no, I'm so sorry, honey, oh, I'm so..."

"No, it's not that," Vector hastily added. "Harry is still alive...we're here because Hermione thought you two might be able to help them."

"Oh, I see," Roger replied, although he really didn't.

McGonagall decided it was time to take charge. "Mr. and Mrs. Granger," she said, "I'd like to introduce you to the Hogwarts Matron, Madame Pomfrey. She's in charge of our Hospital Wing, as well as Mr. Potter's medicinal care."

"Please to meet you," Roger said as he shook Poppy's offered hand. "Please...whatever we can do to help."

"Thank you, Mr. Granger," the medi-witch replied. "If you would allow us to inspect your swimming pool, then?"

"Oh, well...of course," Roger replied, standing back so that the witches could pass through the gate.

Septima, Minerva and Poppy entered the fenced-in pool area, drew their wands, and began casting different types of spells. This allowed Hermione a few minutes time to chide her parents.

"Mum...Dad...I can't believe it...what were you two doing in that deck chair?"

"You mean you really don't know?" Roger asked. "Well, pumpkin, when a mummy and a daddy love each other very much..."

"Oh, stop teasing me," Hermione whined. "I know perfectly well what you two were doing. The question is why you weren't doing it behind locked bedroom doors."

Emily snorted. "Well it could be worse, Roger."

"How's that?"

"Our little girl is willing to accept the fact that her parents still have a sex life...she just wants it to be kept hidden."

"Really, mum...is that too much to ask?"

"Oh, I don't know, pumpkin," Roger replied brightly. "We were behind a privacy fence. on our property, guarded by all sorts of your magical wards. Oh, and we weren't expecting you and your guests. Seems to me that we were keeping things fairly well hidden."

The memory of what she'd seen her parents doing caused a voice inside Hermione's head to proclaim that her mum had indeed been doing a very thorough job of keeping her father's bits hidden from view.

That voice was drowned out by a chorus of voices inside her head that all requested that she be obliviated.

"Well...alright, I'm sorry about arriving unannounced," Hermione replied. "It's just that Harry's life is very much on the line..."

"And keeping your boyfriend alive is more than enough reason to come visit your mum and dad..."

"Oh, stop, Roger," Emily chided, as she swatted him on the shoulder. "Our daughter has been worrying and working herself sick...can't you see?"

"Yes, dear."

"Now, can we focus on what's important then?" Emily asked.

Hermione nodded, and led her parents to their patio table, and chairs that were on the opposite side of where her parents had originally been.

"So, I explained when Septima and visited last time..."

"Oh, so it's first name basis with your Professors, then?" Roger asked.

This earned him another swat on the arm.

"Focus, Roger...and it stands to reason that they'd use first names now that she's graduated."

"Yes, dear."

"So, Hermione," her mum said, "Right after he killed Lord What's-his-name, Harry was hit by an unknown curse that made his skin and lungs burn. You were smart enough and quick enough to throw him into the pond..."

"It was a lake, mum..."

"Right...so that put out the fire, but when floated back to the surface he caught on fire again."

"Well, witches are made of wood, aren't they?"

_Swat!_

"So they don't weigh as much as a duck?"

_"Swat!_

"Daddy!"

"Yes, dear...I'll be quiet dear..."

"So," Emily said with a raised voice. "You decided to do some sort of magical cryogenics, and buried him into the mud along the lakeshore. And you've kept him frozen in mud until you find a cure."

"That's the jist of it," Hermione replied. "Except we've had to focus on modifying the stasis charm, instead of searching for a counter to the curse, because the spell is slowly killing him."

"Right, so you've been working closely with Professor Vector on that...you've found an answer?"

"Yes, I mean, no...not to that," said Hermione. "I had a different idea...keep him submerged in the pool, and heal him underwater."

"Why didn't you do that in the first place?"

"Because the salve that's used to counteract the stasis charm's energy drain is water soluble," Hermione replied. "We're going to try and fix that, but in the meantime we could heal his skin because the burn salve isn't water soluble, and take him out of stasis by having him chew a magical plant that allows him to breathe underwater."

"Breathe underwater? Really?"

Hermione nodded. "It's called gillyweed. Harry's used it before...you grow gills, and webbed fingers and toes. Works for about an hour."

"An hour at a time?" Emily asked. "It will be hard for him to sleep, won't it?"

Hermione shrugged her shoulders. "Better constantly interrupted sleep than never waking up again," she declared.

"Well, that's true enough," Roger decided. "So I imagine you'll be staying with him day and night, to ensure he eats his gillyweeds?"

"You're going to need help there, you realize," Emily offered.

Hermione nodded. "I just hope we get to that point of needing the help."

"What's to keep you from trying?"

Hermione waved towards the other witches. "They're working on the logistics...I should probably join them." She stood up, then added, "And you two must have some clothes around here to put on...unless you streaked starkers out here?"

Roger and Emily looked at each other. He snorted, she grinned.

"Oh, no...don't tell me..." Hermione sighed.

"Well, sweetie, how else were we going to test the don't-notice-me things you placed along the fence lines last year?"

"Now Emily...to be fair, we tested them that time on the swing set, remember?"

"On the swing set?" Hermione shrieked. "You two...on _my _swings?...no, don't answer that question!"

"Fair enough," Emily said, as she pulled her husband up from his deck chair. "We'll be inside when you're done."

"_Dressed _and inside the house, right?" Hermione asked.

"Of course, dear," Emily chided.

"Well, okay then."

As Hermione parents walked barefoot back towards the house, her dad asked, "Probably just as well she didn't know that we did it in her playhouse too, huh?"

_Swat!_

"You're just begging for some karmic payback with comments like that, dear."

"What...from my sweet little girl, the cutest bookworm in the world?"

Emily snorted, and thought to remind her husband that he used to call her his cute little bookworm back when they were dating...and remind him just how naughty his cute little bookworm had been at times. But that could just rev up his engines again, and she had no desire to risk Hermione walking in on them a second time that day.

**oo00OO00oo**

**A/N:** Thanks to pfeil for the impressively complicated math equation.


	3. Chapter 3

**Hydrotherapy  
**A Harry Potter fanfic by canoncansodoff

**Disclaimer: **Not my characters, no money being made, etc., etc.

**Chapter 3:** **Testing the Idea  
**

**oo00OO00oo**

Hermione's parents were relaxing in the glass-roofed conservatory when the swimming pool inspectors finished their work and headed back towards the house.

"Looks promising, based on facial expressions," Emily observed, as she took a sip of tea.

Her husband looked up from his crossword and frowned.

"Is Hermione afraid that her professor will get lost between here and the pool, or is there some other reason she's holding her hand?"

"Hush, you," Emily scolded. "And focus on what's important. Hermione needs all of the support and reassurances she can get."

"And I think differently?"

"Your Monty Python jokes, dear...her best friend's nearly burnt to death and your idea of comfort is quoting the _Holy Grail_?"

"Broke the tension, didn't it?"

"Yes, well...so would turning you into a newt."

The four witches then joined the Grangers, giving Roger no chance to reflect on his wife's observations (much less develop the appropriate Python-inspired retort).

"Hey Mum, hey Dad," said Hermione. She then turned to Septima and added, "See, I told you that my dad liked to do the crossword on Sunday mornings."

"Guess he just likes doing his wife better," Madame Pomfrey whispered to McGonagall.

"Ssshhh!" cautioned a snickering Headmistress.

"So is the pool going to work out?" asked Roger.

Hermione nodded. "We think so...but we'd like to run a few tests before we bring Harry here."

"With your permission, of course," Septima added.

"Of course you have our permission," Emily replied. "But out of curiosity...what sorts of things are you planning?"

"Changing the pool's shape…need to make it easier to treat Harry without his body floating to the surface," replied Hermione. "We'll also need to swap out the pool chemicals for magic."

"Magical chlorine?" asked Roger.

"Disinfectant charms _instead_ of chlorine...Harry's burns would react badly to the chemicals."

"Oh, that makes sense...and cut down on costs. Can you use magic to heat the pool as well?"

Hermione nodded. "Hadn't considered that, but it makes sense."

Roger smiled as he thought of the lower energy bills. "I love magic!"

"Yes, well it's not a perfect cure," Hermione replied. "Part of our testing will determine just how frequently the charm will need to be applied to the water."

"So you'd be swinging by each morning to clean the pool?"

"Erm...more likely that we'll need to clean the water every few hours," McGonagall offered.

"That often, huh?" asked Roger. "Why would that be?"

Emily sighed. "Really, dear, just because it's the weekend, doesn't mean your brain can go on holiday...I imagine that a germ-free environment will be critical, given Harry's burns."

Hermione nodded. "And we do have to be realistic...once Harry is off the stasis charm and using gillyweed the pool water will get dirtied."

"Why is..." trailed off Roger. He then squinted and said, "He'll be peeing in our pool, won't he?"

"Just as if he were a fish in a fish tank, Dad," Hermione replied. "He'll need to eat in the pool, and pee and...do all of his bodily functions underwater."

Roger scowled a bit. "Aren't there any underwater magical toilets that can be installed?"

"Do you think that there would be much of a market for that sort of thing, Dad?"

"Well, I wouldn't really know, since I'm a muggle, right?"

"I believe that we're getting ahead of ourselves," Madame Pomfrey stated. "Our immediate concern is to get Mr. Potter into some fresh mud, and treat his burns."

"Of course it is," Emily replied. "Is there anything that Roger or I could do to help?"

The four witches looked at each other, then collectively shook their heads.

"I think we've got it covered for now, Mum."

"Well then," Emily said, "would it be possible for Roger and I to watch? We'd promise to stay out of your way."

"Why would you want to..."

"It's just that...well, despite the fact that we've known about the wizarding world for several years, and have magical protections on our house, we never really seen a lot of magic being done."

"And we'd love to see just what my little girl has learned at that school of yours," Roger added.

"Oh," Hermione replied flatly. "Well, now might not be the best time, and I won't be the one casting spells during the tests."

"No matter to us," Roger said. "Call it a need to satisfy our curiosity."

"I think it best for you to keep your curiosity contained a bit longer," McGonagall advised. "Hermione could always show you a few things now, or later, since she's of age, but it would be best if you didn't witness the testing."

"Why is that, if I might ask?"

"Because, Daddy," Hermione explained reluctantly. "We've decided that anyone that is in the pool with Harry needs to leave their swimming costumes on the deck."

"What?" asked Roger.

"It's a matter of air bubbles," Septima quickly explained. "Any bit of trapped air inside of our bathing costumes would have the potential to burn Harry if he came in contact with it."

Upon hearing the response, Hermione's father couldn't help but imagine the four witches nude. From a theoretical standpoint, of course, given that his daughter was one of the four. The Arithmancy professor looked to have a fine, thirty-year old hard body, but the other two women were...well, he could do without the imagery.

"Well if that's the case, then my husband can stay inside," Emily decided. "I certainly wouldn't have a problem."

"Yes, but...well, it's more than that," Hermione admitted. "We need to test whether the burn salve will actually work when applied underwater."

"And?"

"And to do that we'll have to treat some actual burned skin," Hermione added. "I am going to be test subject."

"Absolutely not, young lady," Emily firmly stated. "I'll not have you suffer that kind of pain out of some misguided sense of..."

"It's not misguided, Mrs. Granger," Septima said softly. She gave Hermione a furtive look and added, "We don't like the idea either. But there's a risk to taking the time to try and heal Harry's burns before he's encased in fresh mud, and Hermione's made a rather convincing argument that this would better quantify that risk."

"But the pain...and the scar tissue?"

"We've figured that part out, Daddy," Hermione said reassuringly. "I'll only have a small part of skin on my leg burned, and only after I've been placed under the same stasis spell that Harry's under. We'll have burn salve on hand, and if it doesn't work underwater, it certainly will heal the burns once they fish my body out of the pool. And since I'll be healed before I'm pulled out of stasis, I won't feel a thing...probably won't even realize that I'd been burned."

"If that's the case, Hermione, then there is no way you could keep your mother from watching over you," Emily said firmly.

"Actually, a _Petrificus_ spell would freeze you in your tracks."

"Hermione?"

"Yes, mum...you're right, mum," Hermione said reluctantly.

"Of course I am, sweetheart."

**oo00OO00oo**

Hermione's mum was impressed by the straight-forward and cooperative approach taken by the four witches as they made their preparations. One of the things that she was please to notice was how Hermione was treated as a peer by the other three witches, despite the fact that she was barely out of school and much, much younger than them. Except for the Arithmancy professor, whom Emily decided could was in her late twenties.

Another thing that Emily noticed was a tattoo in the shape of a small golden ball with fluttering outstretched wings. That this tattoo was revealed when her daughter stripped off her t-shirt brought her immediately out of observation mode.

"Hermione…what is that on your back?"

The young witch's first reaction was to glance towards Septima Vector, for a shared sardonic grin.

"Told you that she'd notice straight away," said the older witch.

"How could I not notice a tattoo that's six inches wide?"

"Especially when it's flapping its wings," added Pomfrey.

"Flapping its wings?" asked Emily.

"It's a magical tattoo, mum," Hermione replied. "It's animated, but you can only see it move it you are magical yourself."

"Merlin, Hermione," Minerva exclaimed. "When did you find time to get a magical tattoo?"

"April," Hermione replied. "During that last off-campus excursion, when we found and destroyed the last horcrux...Ron insisted that we celebrate, and well...we did."

"Rather odd placement, though, isn't it?"

Hermione looked over her shoulder, and shook her head. "The base of the spine is actually a rather popular place for a tattoo…at least amongst muggle girls and young women."

"But a snitch, Hermione?" asked Minerva. "You'll confuse poor Harry something fierce!"

Hermione blushed. "How do you think?"

"Well, I'd think it obvious," the Headmistress replied with a grin. "He's a seeker, and will be conflicted between reaching for the tattoo and reaching for your fanny!"

"No. it's a perfect location," quipped Poppy. "Just picture where the tip of his broomstick would be pointing towards as he reached for it."

The jokes caused Hermione to blush even more deeply, even as she laughed along. But what Emily noticed with far more interest was Vector's reaction. While McGonagall and Pomfrey were cackling away, the younger witches shared a "look"...the kind of shared glance that married couples can use to convey entire conversations without using words. And then there were the other looks...stolen glances as Hermione and Septima stripped off their knickers (Vector had volunteered to be the one in the pool to apply the burn salve). The two weren't checking each other's bodies out as much as they were checking Emily's reaction to their actions.

As if it wasn't clear as day to Hermione's mum...there was something going on between the two of them. Hermione may have been hiding it better, or simply didn't feel quite as strongly for the older witch as she did for her. But the look of fear in Septima's eyes when Hermione was put in stasis, the anguished expression when McGonagall shot a focused flame of fire from her wand towards her daughter's left calf, the joyous relief when Hermione was "brought back to life" pain-free...those were the looks of a lover.

That Hermione might have a female lover didn't shock Emily...while Roger still was clueless, her daughter had been quite open with her mother about her interest in bisexuality. But then Hermione's two closest friends were boys, and Emily would have thought that any exploration of her "other side" would have been done in the girls dormitories at school. Certainly not in the classroom, or within the bounds of an apprenticeship to a woman who was older than her mother. Even if she was a witch and looked fifteen years _younger _than her mother.

On the scale of the things before them, this was a relatively minor issue for Emily to worry over. Roger would have thought differently, but what he didn't know...It was interesting, though, that Hermione had the reaction that she did when there was talk of Harry groping her fanny. There were some three-way dynamics there that would likely need working out...

But first things first. As she had told her husband, Hermione was far too busy saving Harry's life for Emily to raise the issue, and ask for details. But if and when they succeeded, and the threats had diminished, Emily would definitely be looking for answers.

And in the meantime, she'd just keep looking. Looking closely.

**oo00OO00oo**

Roger Granger had found it impossible to focus on his crossword while the five women were away…just looking at the fence, and thinking about his daughter willingly subjecting herself to third-degree burns, made him want to rush across the garden and force them to stop, and damn the nakedness.

Hoping that out of sight was closer to being out of mind, Roger left the house, crossed the street, and started in on his other weekend hobby...rebuilding the motor and refitting the interior of his 46ft vintage narrowboat.

In times of frustration, banging a misbehaving fuel pump with a spanner was far more therapeutic than pushing a pencil point across and down a puzzle. Especially when his wife and daughter weren't around to scold his language. That kind of freedom was taken advantage of thirty minutes later, when Roger was fighting a losing battle against a fuel pump.

"Well, to hell with you, you miserable piece of shite," he cursed. "You can take your leaking petrol and lube a self-buggering reach-around!"

"Roger?"

The sound of his wife's voice caused the not-so-mild-mannered dentist to lift his head, without mind to the lack of clearance.

"Doh! Bloody buggering hell!".

"Are you quite finished with your cursing, dear?"

"No, come back in a few minutes."

"What, and miss your creative use of the Queen's English?" Emily teased. "So, I'm curious...how would a fuel pump perform a self-buggering reach-around?"

"I was just upset..."

"But it doesn't make sense, dear. I mean...even if the pump had a penis, and was flexible enough…or long enough… to bugger itself..."

"Yes, yes, quite right, dear..."

"So if the fuel pump is buggering itself with its own penis, what would it grab during the reach-around?"

"Nothing, dear. It was just a figure of speech..."

"None that I've heard, Roger. I mean, if you want to curse when you're alone, at least be logical about it."

"Yes, dear...so I imagine that Hermione came through the testing, since my language is holding your attention so well?"

Emily grinned. "Yes, she's fine, and the testing went well...the salve healed Hermione up underwater, so they've gone off to gather supplies for the run with Harry's body later this afternoon."

Roger nodded, as he leaned up against the opened cabin door. "So what was it like?"

"It was amazing...and quite frightening, of course...my heart nearly stop when they petrified Hermione, and then they burned her, and buried her in a vat of mud, and sunk her to the bottom of the pool, and..."

"But she came through it okay?"

Emily nodded. "Just as she predicted...the stasis spell that was cast on her made it as if she was frozen in time...didn't feel a thing, or even remember any of it."

"Suppose you had the worst of it, then."

Emily nodded, choosing not to tell her husband everything that she had seen.

"So when are they coming back?"

"Shouldn't be too long," Emily replied.

"Anything that we can be doing in the meanwhile?"

Emily shrugged her shoulders. "I don't think so…I felt rather helpless, just standing there..."

"Nothing us mere muggles can do to help?" Roger asked.

"Not unless we could wield a….yes, I think there's a way I could contribute."

"How's that, dear?"

Mrs. Granger replied by taking a step forward and reaching for the fire extinguisher that her husband kept (and occasionally needed) next to the engine hatch. Taking hold of the plastic nozzle, she extended it out and waved it around.

"Look honey, it's a muggle wand that can cast a firefighting spell!"

**oo00OO00oo**

**  
**  
Having watched the test run with her daughter's body substituting for Harry Potter's, Emily Granger was far more at ease when the process repeated for real a few hours later. More nervous, of course, because the stakes were so much higher given Harry's injuries, but if the worst Emily had to worry about was the possibility that her naked daughter and her mentor were holding hands under the water's surface, she'd be happy.

Emily had goaded her husband into running down to the Home-Improvement warehouse store to clean out their supply of fire extinguishers. The half-dozen red metal bottles immediately caught the others' eyes when she wheeled them into the pool area on a cart and unpacked them. But Hermione quickly caught on to their utility, and did the necessary bit of muggle-magical translation so that the others understood as well.

The witches were getting help from a few house-elves this time around, including one that Hermione had introduced to her. Dobby was a strange little being, with an interesting command of the English language, but he was obviously fiercely loyal...not only to "The Great Harry Potter, Sir," but "The Great Harry Potter, Sir's Missy Grangy" as well.

At the Headmistress's request, Dobby and the other house-elves had popped away, only to return a few minutes later "carrying" a large vat of mud with them. This vat was levitated into the pool, towards the shallow end that McGonagall had transfigured to facilitate Harry's treatment. Meanwhile, the test vat that Hermione had used earlier in the day sat submerged in the deep end, with a layer of "fresh" magical mud lining its base.

Once the container holding Harry's body was submerged, Septima and Hermione moved to opposite sides of it, while Poppy and McGonagall stood by the water's edge. The medi-witch was casting a constant stream of diagnostic spells towards her mud-covered patient, as Minerva carefully vanished the metal vat. The hard-packed mud retained the molded shape of the vat's interior, until Hermione and Vector began the painstakingly slow process of carefully removing the layers that surrounded Harry's body.

They worked one body part of the time, trying to sap the last bit of magical energy out of the mud, even as they removed it. Hermione gasped when she uncovered the first bit of exposed flesh...a charred big toe. She had seen Harry's body like this within the projection, and still had nightmares that relived seeing him burn on the field of battle. But to see it again, even distorted as she looked down into the water, was disheartening. Fortunately, the job of monitoring Harry's magical reserves had been passed to McGonagall, so that Poppy could supervise the other two witch's work, and talk them through the application of the burn salve that was held in submerged open containers by their sides.

Hermione had started at Harry's toes, and was working upwards. Septima worked from the top of the head down. Emily couldn't help but smirk as the two approached his body's mid-section…Septima appeared to slow her pace just enough so that Hermione got to Harry's penis before she did…except that her daughter couldn't bring herself to treat that part of his body.

"Do the bits, girl," Poppy said a bit sharply. "We've time for your modesty or coyness."

Hermione's eyes went first to the medi-witch, then to her mum. Both seemed to be focused on holding in some snickers.

"Yes, Madame Pomfrey," she replied, as she started to remove the concealing mud.

"You'd think she'd be motivated to make sure that part of the boy is healed up first," Poppy muttered.

Emily didn't know quite what to think as she watched her daughter delicately apply salve to Harry's now uncovered penis. She seemed a bit embarrassed, while Septima seemed bemused. Not wishing to dwell on the sexual connotations, Hermione's mum focused on something more analytical.

"Strange that both of his heads are burned fairly equally," Emily observed.

"How's that, Mum?"

"I wouldn't expect it…unless he was casting spells naked."

"Sorry…I'm not following."

"Was he dueling starkers?"

"Of course not," Hermione replied. He was wearing battle robes, with dragonskin armor underneath…same as I was."

"Socks and boots too?"

"Yes."

"Curiouser and curiouser, then."

"Why would you think that curious?" asked Septima.

"It's a matter of available fuel, Professor," Emily replied. "Fires burn by consuming the available oxygen that is in the air. He might have had a bit of air trapped in his boxers…"

"He wasn't wearing boxers, mum."

"Oh, well, it doesn't matter…in his Y-fronts, then…"

"Wasn't wearing those either…Harry wasn't wearing anything underneath his armor."

"And you know this how, young lady?"

"Erm…because I was in the Infirmary and monitoring his body's projection when Poppy vanished his armor?"

That didn't make complete sense, but Emily let it pass.

"The principal is the same," she stated. "Skin that is exposed to the air should have more severe burns than his covered parts."

The three older witches didn't have a clue as to what oxygen was, much less follow Emily's logic. So it was up to Hermione to reconcile the apparent discrepancy.

"I see the problem…Mum, you're thinking like a muggle."

"Do I have an alternative?"

"Erm, no…it's not a putdown, just an explanation. Magic plays by its own set of rules, and magical fire doesn't need oxygen to burn."

"Really?" Emily asked. "So, you've been humoring me all the time that I've been holding this rather cumbersome fire extinguisher?"

"Not at all, Mum…I'm fairly certain that it would work."

"But it works by removing a fire's source of oxygen??"

"And it does that by creating a barrier between the burning object and the surrounding air," Hermione replied.

"Now I'm the one not following."

"It's all about intent, Mum," Hermione explained. "The Dark witch or wizard that created the curse that struck Harry didn't know anything about oxygen, or the fire triangle. Their intent was a curse that caused skin and lungs to burn if it had any contact with air. You could smother him in a blanket, but as long as there was some air trapped underneath the blanket, he'd continue to burn."

"Oh."

"So you understand, then?"

"Not really, but that's okay."

**oo00OO00oo  
**

The first phase of Harry's Hydrotherapy was completed once Hermione and Septima finished removing all of the old mud casing, and replacing it with new mud after his skin was treated with burn salve. Given the extent of the burns, several applications of salve would be needed before Harry's skin was healed to the point where he could be brought out of stasis without immediately experiencing excruciating pain.

They had decided to keep Harry in the pool, inside the submerged vat and underneath a thin layer of mud. With an eye towards monitoring both his health and the pool's water quality, the Grangers invited their daughter and the other three witches to stay for a celebratory poolside dinner.

Now that the threat to Harry's life had diminished, and the mood was much more relaxed, Roger considered the dinner conversation fair game for Python references. When his daughter complained, he switched over to giving grief over her tattoo (she had dressed in shorts and a bikini top once Harry's treatment was finished). Not wishing to explain why she had chosen both the design and its placement, Hermione tried to change the topic.

"So, Daddy…how would you like to use the pool for more than just a few months each year?"

Roger replied with a grin and eyebrows that waggled towards his wife.

"For_ swimming_, Daddy…use the pool for _swimming_ more than a few months each year."

"It'd be wonderful…got some glass dome magic up your sleeves?"

"No, we're going to need something that provides a little more shade than that."

"How so?"

"We were discussing the issue of the sun adversely affecting Mr. Potter," Poppy explained.**  
**  
"But I thought the curse kicked in with exposure to air...is it sunshine instead?" Roger asked.

"It's the sunburn that's at issue, actually," Minerva replied. "Harry's new skin will be quite sensitive as it heals."

"We have a pool cover to help keep the heat in at night, if that would help."

"That would probably work," said Minerva, "but then we wouldn't be able to see Harry, and that would defeat some of the purpose of submerging him in water, rather than mud."

Emily paused for a moment, and then asked, "Hermione, could you add some sort of magical sunscreen to your salves?"

Her daughter bit her lower lip, and nodded. "I'm pretty certain that we could, but might take a bit of time to develop, and well...we've come up with a quick solution, if you both are willing."

"What's that pumpkin?"

"Mr. and Mrs. Granger," Minerva asked, "would you consider allowing us to enclose the pool within a building?"

"You mean make it an indoor pool?" Roger asked. "You think that kind of construction would be a quick solution?"

The Headmistress nodded. "I don't see why we couldn't have something built within a day's time."

"Just a day?" asked Emma. "So you're thinking of something simple...an overhanging roof, supported by posts?"

Minerva shook her head. "No, we were planning a proper building, unless you'd rather have just the roof."

"And that could be done in a day?"

McGonagall shrugged her shoulders. "It could be less, actually."

"How?"

"It's the start of summer holidays, Mr. Granger," the Headmistress explained. "I've got nearly a hundred house-elves at Hogwarts with little to do now that the students are gone. Half of them are already showing signs of depression, and the others are bouncing off the castle's walls."

"House-elves?" asked Emily. "Hermione, are they the poor enslaved creatures that you were trying to free a few years back?"

Hermione nodded, and blushed a bit with embarrassment. "I've learned a few things since that time...I still think it's wrong to enslave them, and it's horrific how some of them are mistreated, but...their happiness really is tied into how hard they're working."

Roger let out a small sigh. "But then there's the city planners, and the neighborhood council...they'd have to sign off on the construction proposal."

"There's people at the Ministry of Magic that deal with hiding new magical buildings and residences from the muggles," Hermione replied. "And the notice-me-not wards that you and mum have been taking full advantage of would keep the neighbors from asking questions."

"Really?" asked Roger. "A new building constructed in our garden overnight, and they wouldn't notice it?"

"No, they'd be able to see it," offered Hermione. "They just wouldn't think it was anything out of the ordinary...they'd likely act as if it's always been there."

Septima added, "It's the same thing that would happen if a neighbor were to snoop and spy you standing starkers in your garden. They could be looking straight at your bits, and not think it extraordinary."

Roger snorted. "I think that I should be offended by that remark."

"No, no...it's not your bits that they'd consider to be unremarkable, rather the fact that they're uncovered."

Emily was about to launch into a tongue-in-cheek defense of her husband's equipment when Hermione grabbed her arm.

"Oh, no, mum...we are not going to be discussing this point further..."

"Would it be easier if we talked about exposing my breasts instead of your daddy's bits?"

"Well...yes, but..."

"They'd be a good test," Roger muttered_._ "The pervy kid next door's been trying to catch Emily topless for ages," .

"Hush, Roger," his wife chided. "So the point to all this is...we could walk around starkers, and the neighbors wouldn't bat an eye?"

Septima nodded. "So long as they were looking from a vantage point covered by the notice-me-not charms."

"Oh, no," Hermione whined. "Please, mum...you two aren't going to run starkers through the garden all the time now, are you?"

"Heavens, no," Emily replied.

"That's good."

"Not really," Emily lamented. "Takes the fun out of running naked from here to the pool if there's no risk of getting caught by the neighbors."

"Mum!"

"Just taking the mickey out of you, pumpkin," her dad replied with a smile.

"No I'm not," Emily protested.

"Can't we get back to the point?" Hermione asked with exasperation.

"Yes, dear," Roger said with a grin. "And that was..."

Everybody needed a moment to think back to the point where the discussion had deviated.

"We were talking about the Ministry of Magic's work when witches or wizards have homes within mixed communities," Septima offered.

"Ah, yes," said Roger. "So your Ministry is going to be willing to help us with the City?"

"They're obligated to, since it would be a witch's residence," Minerva stated.

"A witch's residence?" asked Emily. "But neither Roger or I are magical, unless..."

When Hermione's parents darted towards her, she sighed and offered a weak smile.

"Mum, Dad...would it be okay if I moved back in with you for a while? Along with a few of my friends?"

"Friends, pumpkin?"

"Just temporarily," Hermione stated. "We've talked about how we're going to need to closely monitor Harry's conditions…and well, Mum herself mentioned that I would need some help."

Roger nodded. "How many friends are we talking about?"

Hermione glanced towards her Arithmancy professor, and chewed on her lower lip.

"We were thinking of a rotating watch, Mr. Granger," Vector replied.

"Please, it's Roger, right?"

"Erm..yes, sorry, Roger…two witches at a time, start with eight hour shifts, so…six total, including Hermione."

Emily raised an eyebrow. "Hermione, you'd be welcomed, but our house isn't all that large…"

"No worries, mum," Hermione replied. "We'd add a living area to new building."

"Any idea on what this would cost?"

"Won't cost a thing, Roger," Minerva McGonagall stated. "The house-elves can use salvaged materials and furnishings from the unused portions of Hogwarts Castle."

"We wouldn't want to impose…"

"No, you'd be doing us a favor," assured the Headmistress. "Harry Potter was injured in defense of the school, not to mention the wizarding world. The school will see to his treatment needs, whatever and wherever they are."

Roger nodded. "So…an enclosed aquatics facility with living quarters for six…witches, did you say?"

Hermione nodded and smiled. "We're quite certain we can get suitable female volunteers."

"Volunteers who would help rub salve all over Harry Potter's naked body, all the while wearing as little as he is?" Emily asked with a smile. "Where do I sign up?"

"Mum!"

"What?" Emily asked with an arched eyebrow. "This whole scheme is medically necessary, right? There's not going to be any sexual antics going on, is there?"

"Of course this will be a medicinal treatment program," Madame Pomfrey declared. "And as for sexual antics…"

She smiled, and declared, "I can guarantee that nothing will happen beyond the observed baseline of activity."

Roger didn't immediately get the joke.

Emily did, and blushed. If her morning shag with Roger was an established baseline, what could go beyond it?

She then thought of a few things, and decided that it wasn't such a high baseline after all.


End file.
